big oopsie
by victortor
Summary: In which Joseph Joestar ends up with more than just one misplaced progeny.


Big disclaimer that I'm very unfamiliar with Islamic religion and culture, Egypt in the 1960s-80s, and what being a fortune teller entails. No research was done and while everything was purposefully vague as a remedy, if something is extremely dubious accept my apologies in advance.

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* * *

Mohammed Avdol is born June of 1960, when the scorching heat of Egypt is already unbearable. The sand gets everywhere— his mother says it stung his eyes as a child, and he'd bawl and cry and be inconsolable until she somehow managed to magick him into laughing again— and the wind is dry. Rain is a myth, a faraway thought.

He is indistinguishable from the other children that bawl and wail in the streets of Cairo, but his mother tells him, "You are different. And I don't mean that in a 'you're my son sense, Mohammed,'" she says smartly, for his mother has always been quick with her tongue. She always knows what to say. "Your father wasn't from here. He was from America— the land of the free. He was here on a business trip."

"America," Mohammed repeats.

His mother is a fortune teller by trade— the people around think her a witch, a blasphemist. She seduced an American man, let him go, and never married. They are not well liked by those of their religion, yet people seem drawn to his mother anyway, by how strange she was. Mohammed thinks later, when his mother is buried into the sands below, that they were probably right. But it is not necessarily a bad thing. His mother was his mother— nothing more, nothing less.

His mother can make things float at will, or at least it seems like that to other people. "This is a stand," she says, amused. "You have one too. It can help you. Here, I will name it."

She holds out her tarot deck, and Magician comes flashing up at him. "Magician's Red it will be," she says, pleased. "It is a good name." Later she will insist that the name be in English— he acquiesces easily enough.

"What is yours?" Mohammed asks, and she shuffles through the cards to find the one she picked out from her father's deck so many years ago, Star.

Sometimes, she pokes at the strange star birthmark on his neck. "It matches with your father's," she snorts. "At least he'll know you're his if you ever meet."

"Your father's name is Joseph Joestar," she tells him, making him repeat the syllables until he can recite them without stuttering. She doesn't know a lick of English, and neither does he, at the time. "He acted like he was very rich. I am not sure if he actually was, but I imagine if he was and you two happen to meet again, you can take some of his money."

Mohammed laughs, for she means it as a joke. She does not ever expect for them to meet. He does not, either.

His mother dies when he is twenty— already managing the business on his own. She dies rather content. The last thing she asks of him is a show of lights. 'Fire," she says, looking to Magician's Red in satisfaction. "You were always the best at it, Mohammed."

This is Mohammed Avdol— bastard child, though no one cares particularly much; there are much more important things to worry about. Son of a white man from America— though the fact seems to have been forgotten by most by then. Stand user— he has never met another user besides his mother, but he hears rumors, meets those who are dying from them. He keeps to his life and sticks to it.

People find him to be a genial, sensible man with a good sense of humor. Passionate, sometimes too much so. He doesn't think of himself as much more than that, either. He learns English so he can cater to tourists, and when he is 25, he meets his father.

"My name is Joseph Joestar," the man says and he doesn't blink. "I was told that any business involving… 'magic,' for lack of better words, I should come to you. Can you help me?"

"Indeed I can, Mr. Joestar," Mohammed says, and that is the beginning of the end.

* * *

"Don't underestimate destiny," his mother has told him more than once, and Mohammed can no longer deny the truth of her statement when Mr. Joestar hires him almost immediately, with a hefty amount of starting salary, and brings him to New York City.

Joseph Joestar is an young man in an aging body— something that does not seem to bother him overly much. He doesn't dye his graying hair, or try to dress in attire meant for a younger generation. He shows Mohammed his Ripple technique with a glass of water after he reveals Magician's Red's fire, winks. "It's nothing more than a party trick really. Now my mother," he says conspiratorially, "Is a real master at this. She can use it so well that even now, we look like siblings!"

Mr. Joestar's mother, Ms. Elizabeth "Lisa Lisa" Huston, is someone he only meets once. Sure enough, she's an elegant, white-haired woman that looks to be in her sixties, the same age as her son.

By then it's 1987, and Mr. Joestar has already developed his stand, Hermit Purple. She's been widowed for decades— for the second time, apparently. "I have a bad habit of outliving my husbands," she says, with just enough dark humor that it doesn't make him stutter out an apology. "I hear Jojo's gotten himself into another predicament. You're teaching him, yes? Make sure he doesn't die too much; he's my only son."

"Well, Ms. Lisa Lisa," he replies, "I'll try my best. Hopefully Mr. Joestar won't strangle himself from his own stand while I'm not looking."

Ignoring Mr. Joestar's sputters, she only smiles, the sort of cool smile that only invites people closer. She offers him a cigarette.

While in New York, he meets Mr. Joestar's wife, Suzi Q, much more often. She is a kindly, exuberant, almost naive old woman. She regards him without a single bit of wariness, shaking hands with him energetically, kissing her husband on the lips without a care in the world. Mr. Joestar regards her with nothing but exasperated fondness.

"Joseph and I have been married since 1938," she beams. "I've never met a better man in my life!"

"And I've never met a more beautiful woman than you," Mr. Joestar grins and flatters, and with a belated start, Mohammed realizes that he truly does mean it. Joseph Joestar is good at lying, but his truths are just as brilliant.

In New York, he meets Iggy the stand user and Smokey Brown, the former mayor of Georgia. He sifts through old news articles of the empty chest discovered by the Canary Islands in 1934.

"What is this, Mr. Joestar?" He questions on a flight to Morocco. "Why are you worried about this… empty treasure chest?"

"It's no chest, Avdol," Mr. Joestar replies, tracing the shape of the chest in the photo. "It's a coffin."

From Morocco to the place of the shipwreck, they charter a private boat and out spills the story of a stone mask, an English noble family, the Ripple technique, pillar men…

"DIO," Mr. Joestar says firmly, as if it is truth, "Is the evil that will always plague the Joestars until his defeat. It's fate that we must encounter him again. I can feel it— that he's out there. As long as you aware of him, anyone of this bloodline will feel him."

Is that true? Mohammed wonders absently, as if he has already forgotten his mother's words, as if he's forgotten his very craft, as if he has already forgotten what kind of blood runs in him.

He and Mr. Joestar part ways for a while, and he goes to Southeast Asia, India, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia— looking for the man all Joestars are inevitably drawn to. He finds himself tracing loose ends that disappear in dust until he returns to Egypt in 1988, planning to travel to Sub-Saharan Africa after that.

By then it is July, and the heat is cold. There is almost no wind.

Khan el-Khalil is the souk Mohammed has worked at all his life. He knows the feeling around it, no matter the day, no matter the hour. Tonight is different— the heat is boiling, yet he feels cold. He does not feel like he is in Cairo any longer.

How does one describe DIO? To one who has never met him and never will, Mohammed will say, "He was a monster." To one who already has, or one who inevitably will, he will say, "He was beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off him."

He imagines reaching out to DIO must be like touching a statue. Cold as marble, perfectly sculpted, impenetrably gorgeous— and how scary that is, when that statue reaches out to you, says, _I have heard of you, Mohammed Avdol. _

Even more scary it is, that when the slab of marble reaches out to you, and and its fingers stop. It says, _Ho… what a surprise. I was not expecting someone like _you.

_You. You. You. _The word rings in Mohammed's head like church bells, the one he once attended with Mr. Joestar in Manhattan out of pure curiosity. Something perfect continues to say, _To think you were here, _Joestar— _I suppose this must be fate. _

Mohammed turns tail and runs. Later he will not be proud of this, but even then, all he can say is, "I would have died if I didn't."

The destiny that all Joestars must bear— he as himself: Mohammed Avdol, his mother's son, teller of fortunes, flees. Its beauty, its horrible burden is too much for him.

* * *

Jotaro Kujo is… different.

Holly Kujo is understandable. Her demeanor reminds him of Ms. Suzi Q. She is sweet, intelligent, and kind. She greets him without a bit of hesitation later, bowing with enthusiasm, and some part of his thoughts remind him, _This is your sister. _He finds himself regarding her very fondly.

But Jotaro Kujo, with a volatile nature and similarly volatile stand, is an enigma. He is unlike his silvertongue grandfather and unlike his exuberant mother. When Mohammed confronts him, his stand grabs Magician Red's neck and squeezes without restraint, his blue eyes shining with intent, Mohammed realizes he knows who this boy reminds him of.

When he tricks Jotaro into leaving his cell, the boy considers him again and nods. When Mr. Joestar explains DIO once more, he scoffs and turns away. Through this, Mohammed watches, and that feeling grows.

When Jotaro Kujo goes to school and comes back with a servant of DIO with him, unhesitatingly saving his life, coolly redirectly praise through a strange mixture of teenage roughness and mature kindness, when Jotaro Kujo uses his stand to locate DIO's whereabouts, when Jotaro Kujo watches his mother succumb to an illness, when Jotaro Kujo regards people coldly, Mohammed Avdol watches him in return.

"Jojo," he says before they leave, "Pick a card. I will name your stand."

Before Jotaro can pick his card, Mohammed already knows what it will be. "Star," he says, taking the card from his nephew. He remembers this card in his own mother's hands, her amusement when he asked about her stand.

"Star," she had responded, and it had fit— she had always been miles away from the ground, floating to whatever goal she had seen out there, and other people were unable to look away. "The star of a platinum color, Mohammed, the kind that draws people in and makes them unable to look away— Star Platinum."

"Star Platinum," he had repeated in Arabic, and now he says it in English. There had always been something that had made people drawn to her, whether or not she treated them well. That charisma, that ability to reach for that answer that only you saw…

"Star Platinum, the star of a platinum color," he speaks. "May the shine of metal guide your way to the truth."

Jotaro says dismissively, "You didn't have to give it a name."

"I wanted to," Muhammed says honestly, and smiles.

* * *

Jean Pierre Polnareff, as he is named, introduces himself as such. When he faces Mohammed, he is all class and swagger. "Muhammed Avdol," he calls, "On behalf on DIO, I'll defeat you today!"

Upon his subsequent defeat, Polnareff reveals himself to be rather silly, with a sense of humor that makes him get along quite well with Muhammed. When he reveals his search for his sister's killer and Avdol, in turn, reveals his mother's death, he says, "You have no remaining family, right Avdol? Then you and I are the same."

"It's true I've no relatives I'm close to that are alive," Mohammed agrees. "But you misunderstand. I have more family."

"You do?" Even Mr. Joestar turns, curious. He's given them the impression that he's got no family, after all.

Mohammed smiles, says, "For one, I have a father. He and my mother did not live together. He is not from Egypt."

"I wasn't aware," Mr. Joestar says thoughtfully. "How interesting."

When they reach Calcutta and Polnareff is led along, straight into his impending doom, Mohammed says, "You cannot go off by yourself— doing things on your own, you will never achieve what you desire."

"You don't know me," Polnareff snaps. "Have you ever seen your own sister, being unable to save her, what do you expect me to do?! No one was there for her!"

"It is true, I have no sister," he lies. "And certainly not one that is dead. All I know is that you're bound to fail like this, Polnareff."

"Someone like you," Polnareff yells, his eyes alight with fire, "Can't possibly know that! You're the one who fled the moment you encountered DIO, didn't you?! You're the one who's so cowardly that even when victory was in your grasp, you couldn't do anything but run away! When the time comes, that's all you'll be able to do!"

Later, he will have time to reflect on that moment, and admit that he overreacted. But in the moment, Mohammed's emotions gets to him. "You're spitfire of passion, Mohammed," his mother had said more than once, and laughs. "You must have gotten it from your father, because I don't recognize it at all!"

But, he admits to himself, perhaps there is a truth in it, which is why he finds himself unnecessarily agitated. Maybe he really is just a coward, and Polnareff is right.

Yet he is still here, alive, as he quietly journeys from India to the Red Sea on his own. Mr. Joestar has entrusted him with a task to obtain a submarine, and that's what he'll do. Hopefully, Polnareff can keep out of trouble while he's away, he thinks, grimly amused, and touches the healing wound on his forehead. Perhaps he'll even get a thank you this time.

* * *

When they regroup, the subject of their goals resurfaces— Mr. Joestar calls his wife, and Ms. Holly's situation has only worsened. They cross the Red Sea with a bit of a scuffle.

"For Holly, I have to," Mr. Joestar says. "She's my only child."

"As far as I can tell, if I beat the shit out of DIO this'll all be over, so that's what I'm going to do," Jotaro says dismissively.

"Well, of course I'm going with you," Polnareff says matter-a-factly, and grins. "How are you ever going to defeat him without I, the great Jean Pierre Polnareff?"

"Right," Mohammed says. "Of course, Polnareff, how could we ever do without you?"

Polnareff turns to him, blushing a bit. "Avdol," he complains, "Not you, too!"

"I imagine," Kakyoin says, "That my reasons are very similar to Avdol's."

"How so?" Mohammed asks, and the boy smiles.

"We've both met DIO, haven't we?" He replies. "You know as well as I do— that feeling of overwhelming charisma? I… don't want to be scared anymore."

Mohammed looks to him in surprise. Kakyoin catches it, says slowly, "Is that… not why you came?"

"No, I… I suppose it is," he says. That is certainly one way of thinking of it. "I had never thought of it that way— though it is true that I am scared of DIO, and that in a way, I am facing my fears. But the reason why I joined this trip was because I work for Mr. Joestar."

All heads now turn to Joseph Joestar, who blinks. "Well, yes, I have Avdol on payroll," he says. "I hired him years ago to help me track down DIO."

"So it's your job," Polnareff says, fascinated. "Mr. Joestar, you better be paying him properly!"

Mr. Joestar laughs. "Of course I am! Avdol's a good friend of him, I treat him well. Don't I, Avdol?"

"I couldn't ask for anyone better," Mohammed says sincerely.

But Kakyoin watches him for a while longer, his gaze thoughtful as they wait for the Speedwagon backup to arrive.

"Avdol," he says, "If you were not working for Mr. Joestar, would you still have come on this journey?"

Mohammed looks to him, says as honestly as he can, "Something brought Mr. Joestar to me, a power in the universe beyond my understanding— Allah, maybe. If that had not happened, then I do not think I would be who I am today. I would not be 'Mohammed Avdol.' So I cannot say."

"That's a non-answer," Kakyoin says mildly.

"It's the only answer I can give you," he admits. Meeting Joseph Joestar was inevitable— being his son was, as well. "If you could answer the same question definitively, one way or the other, then I admire you."

* * *

The truth unravels itself, as all things do, and it returns to the birther of such things— Star Platinum, the stand that reaches the truth.

They are in Cairo now, and the search for DIO's hideout is imminent. They rent a few hotel rooms, switch off every day as to who rooms with who.

He is careless— he steps out of the bath forgetting where he is. Jotaro Kujo looks up as Mohammed turns around, realizing his mistake— but turning around is a mistake in of itself.

"Avdol," Jotaro says, after a brief moment.

Mohammed doesn't turn around for a moment. He wonders, absently, what he will see.

"Avdol," Jotaro says slowly, "Fucking turn around and look me in the eye, then tell me you're fucking with me. It's not very funny."

"To be honest, I forgot I wasn't rooming alone today," he admits. He finally turns. "But it is no joke. The star on my shoulder— just like you, I was born with it."

There is a damning realization in Jotaro's expression, which twists into combustive, dangerous territory as he says curtly, "Explain."

"Perhaps it's irresponsible of me," he says. "But I never told anyone. I am an illegitimate child. It wasn't out of any fear or worry for _Mr. Joestar, _I assure you."

That's enough for Jotaro, who flinches back. "That shitty old man, he really—_"_ He speaks, sounding almost horrified. "You're my _uncle!_"

Mohammed carefully hides the star on his shoulder once again, as he dresses himself. "Those of the Joestar line can feel each other, as long as we know what we are looking for," he says. "That is why both you and Mr. Joestar can tell that DIO is out there. In truth, I can too— and I can feel both of you, as well."

As he says this, he is sure that Jotaro suddenly cannot doubt his words— as sure as Mohammed is of his identity, Jotaro is, as well.

"You didn't tell him?" Jotaro says. His hands are white, clenched tightly like pincers. "... You've met Grandma Suzi, haven't you? You didn't tell her?"

"I didn't," he agrees. "And for that, I am sorry. She deserves to know."

Jotaro Kujo is blue-eyed, dangerous, and uncomfortably volatile. He looks close to his boiling point, and he hisses, "Then why didn't you _fucking _tell her?"

Mohammed says, "Will you listen to what I have to say?"

And this is what Mohammed Avdol tells his nephew, Jotaro Kujo:

"I am Mohammed Avdol, born July of 1960," he says. "I was born in Cairo, and I lived there all my life until three years ago, when my father, unaware of who I was, hired me to find his family's old nemesis, DIO.

"When I met DIO, I thought, perhaps, that may have been the devil himself. He scared me. But the more I thought on it, I realized that I could not tell what I was more scared of— DIO himself, or what DIO meant to me, and what DIO saw me as."

He brings a hand to the back of his shoulder. "He saw me as a Joestar, and all of a sudden I understood what that meant," he says. "That to be a Joestar, there is something I must accept as part of my fate— as Mr. Joestar once said, 'Joestar men die young.'

"I am Mohammed Avdol," he says, "Fortune teller by trade. I lived my entire life believing that I would never meet my father. I am grateful that I did, because Mr. Joestar is a good man— flawed, but good, though his wife deserves better. But now that we have met, I find myself scared by what he has brought upon me."

"If you were so scared," Jotaro says, "Why did you even come?"

Mohammed smiles, but does not answer. "I cannot stop you either way," he says, "But this is my secret. Now that you have it, I hope… that you won't tell anyone.

That is the day he reaches out to an old friend, gives him the photo of DIO's mansion. Hours later, they stand in front of the gates, and they know what is waiting for them beyond it.

This is when Mohammed says, out of nowhere, "Mr. Joestar,"

Joseph Joestar turns. "Yes, Avdol?"

"I think very highly of you," he says honestly. "I admire you and your judgement. The reason why I came on this trip— it was always you. I hold great affection towards you. In the event that I do not see you again after this, I hope you know this."

To his right, Jotaro watches silently. Just a few hours before, he told Mohammed, "I… won't tell anyone. It's your truth."

Mr. Joestar blinks in surprise, smiles. "Thank you," he says, "But you'll be fine, Avdol," and Mohammed cannot help, in the most helpless of ways, be the son that believes his father's words.

* * *

They go back to collect bodies. All that remains of Mohammed Avdol are his arms— identifiable by the fingerprints. He never reached DIO. The star that marks his heritage is not there, and the truth is lost to the sand and the wind of hot and dry Egypt. The fire returns to where it was conceived.

No, no… that is not quite true, is it?

It is 1999, and Joseph Joestar discovers his bastard son— Josuke Higashikata, age 16, and while Suzi Q watches in increasing silence, Jotaro Kujo's fingers twitch. There is an old fire in him, and its embers flicker in increasing voracity as he cradles its existence in his heart.

"Old man," he says, interrupting his grandmother's stilted, cold voice. "Is this the first time… you've cheated?"

Joseph Joestar looks to his grandson, and they lock eyes. They realize that they both already know the answer, that 'no' is inevitable.

"No," he says. Suzi Q closes her eyes in defeat. "There was… another. I was around… forty, I think. Late nineteen-fifties. It was in Egypt, with a local woman. She never told me her name."

Jotaro Kujo can imagine her now— the type of beauty that Joseph Joestar always had a fondness for, perhaps a mature, sensible, yet mysterious personality that kept him entertained.

True to his word, the name Mohammed Avdol never leaves his lips. It will be decades until he and the fire are finally laid to rest.

* * *

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The origin story to this was that some dude was watching part 3 for the first time said something akin to "obviously Joseph cheated on his wife with a black girl, Avdol is his son" and after mcfreaking losing it for a moment I was like "hold up a sec"


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